Vanguard
by carouselhazard
Summary: Cornelia and Guilford: On things that went unseen. Chapter 1: "I'm not going back to Pendragon just for this."


I'm going to keep writing about this pair because it's the only writing exercise I have at the moment. And as such, the style may (or may not) suddenly change, depending on what I'm trying out at the time of writing. Nonetheless, I do hope you enjoy this series.

SETTING: Within the timeframe of the manga/anime

Code Geass (including the characters) is not mine, but this story is.

PS: Fans at the ready; it can get a little hot in some parts of this thing.

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**01: Prelude** (A.T.B. 2017 at 02:40:12 Hours)

Cornelia awoke to the suffocating sound of silence. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, as if to assure herself that she is, indeed, still very much alive. For a while, she lay immobile, limbs tangled in the luxurious sheets, hair sprawled carelessly on her pillow. As somebody who is accustomed to violence, explosions and the overall noise of warfare, it was the silence of the night that unnerves her. She then moved her gaze to the other side of the bed to confirm her suspicion: it was unoccupied.

She is alone. This discovery was enough to jolt her into consciousness.

And because Guilford knew that she does not sleep well at night, especially during a campaign, she is usually never alone.

Cornelia surveyed the room, hand automatically moving to the gun they keep shoved between the mattress and the headboard. She gripped it tightly as her eyes scanned her surroundings; nothing looked out of place, except for the low burning fireplace. A small gap in the window blinds revealed that it was still dark outside; she couldn't have been asleep that long. Seeing that there was no real threat, the Princess grudgingly withdrew her hand from the weapon's hiding place and sat up very slowly, shaking the paranoia from her head. The silk sheets whispered at her every movement, gliding across her bare legs as she swung them to the side of the bed, feet touching the carpeted floor.

The Second Princess shivered. It was unnaturally cold, despite the fire. And it was then that she noticed something else: there was light in the receiving room, visible in the gap under her door. Relief washed over her as she quickly gathered her hair in a loose bun, her sleepwear rustled as she padded across the room.

Cornelia paused at the muffled sound of her Knight's voice, deep in conversation. Her eyes squinted in the dark, consulting the red digits of the alarm clock on Guilford's bedside table. She flushed slightly at the subtle reminder of who shares her bed; as Princess and Knight, they were always provided with two separate bedchambers, joined by one spacious receiving room which doubled as Cornelia's office. Although he insists on keeping his belongings in there, Guilford's room has seen very little use otherwise.

Nobody knew about their real sleeping arrangements except, perhaps, Darlton and he has absolutely no qualms about what goes on between Cornelia and Guilford. In fact, he sometimes acted as a sympathetic ear or a welcome mutual friend with an unbiased perspective.

At the present, Cornelia couldn't detect a second voice; it is likely that Guilford is on the phone. She slowly opened the door (the hinges were beautifully silent) and leaned against the door frame, not seeing the need to interrupt her Knight who looked rather agitated as he argued with somebody on the phone.

Much to her intrigue, Guilford also looked as if he was in the middle of undressing.

"How much of the Marquessate has my brother gambled off?" She heard him murmur, completely unaware of her presence. His voice, soft. His shoulders, tense.

The stiff burgundy and gold military jacket was already hanging on the back of the chair, spotless and creaseless as ever. She could never understand how Guilford can stand that uniform being buttoned up to his neck. It was a tad too suffocating at times. The silk sash that he normally wore cinched around his waist lay folded on the shoulder of his uniform. Her eyes wandered over to the coffee table where an assortment of items were left haphazardly; his mobile computer was on, the screen was displaying something looked like a map and an unfinished email; a stack of papers, a leather portfolio and what she recognized as his notebook (that he habitually replaces every year) lay next to the computer, neglected; his badge as Knight of Honor was left not too far from a gun that she knew he always carried around with him. And much to Cornelia's surprise, his glasses are also on the table.

Her Knight, whose broad back was turned to her, was absently threading his long fingers through his hair which was currently free from its normal confines. Cornelia could feel the heat creeping up to her cheeks upon remembering the times when she touched and toyed with those tresses. She could remember how unbelievably silky those strands felt between her fingers. Gods, she loved his hair and is secretly pleased that he's willing to keep it long because of an offhand remark from her; that the look suits him very well. Her reverie was cut short when he moved to the bar and poured himself shot of tequila.

That made her pause. Guilford _hated_ tequila. She couldn't see the appeal in it either. The only times they have the offending drink on hand is whenever the Glaston Knights are around. Darlton considers it as a necessary evil because it was their poison of choice; there was nothing more effective than that drink to knock them out when they get too festive.

_He's in a worse mood than I thought_, Cornelia almost retreated back to the bedroom until she heard him speak.

"No, I'm not going back to Pendragon just for this." He snapped at recipient on the other end of the line.

Pendragon? Her brows snapped together. What business does he have at the Capital? They're not finished dealing with the skirmish in (what would be) Area 18.

Guilford barked a sardonic laugh before sobering up. The shot glass was halfway to his lips when he finally noticed her lingering in the bedroom doorway. As his eyes drank her in, Cornelia suddenly became very conscious of what she was wearing… and what she's not. Eyes never leaving her form, he finished off the drink without so much as a grimace. His gaze softened but the seriousness in his voice remains unrelenting, "No. My place is here."

Cornelia smiled shyly at him as he stopped pacing and sat on the couch, resting one booted foot on the coffee table, one hand extended to her in invitation. For a fleeting moment, to her, he looked exhausted. And out of concern, Cornelia crossed the room and moved to stand behind him, placing one comforting hand on the top of his head. She felt him relax under her touch only to tense up again as she placed a hand on each of his broad shoulders, moving them slowly from one end to another, and back.

Guilford raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

Now that she was closer, she could see that he had three buttons of his shirt undone, and the sleeves folded up to his elbows. Cornelia eyed the bandage on his right forearm with distaste. Another souvenir of war. With a sigh, she leaned forward and draped her arms on either side his neck, embracing him from behind and placing her cheek next to his.

He ran a hand down her left arm and laced his fingers with hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips. Guilford turned his head slightly, "I'll be done in a minute." He whispered apologetically against her ear, gently nuzzling her cheek with his oh, so perfect nose.

"What's going on?" Cornelia muttered, well away from the communicator that was attached to his other ear. He squeezed her hand gently in response.

"Listen," Guilford spoke suddenly, interrupting the speaker on the other end, "Can we continue this conversation in a few days? When I'm a bit more awake, preferably. Yes. Of course. I will contact you when I've decided. Send me the latest report on the land and properties. Everything my family still owns." Guilford paused, "Alright. Thank you."

Cornelia removed the communicator for him. With a slight tilt of her head, she began interrogating him with a gentle, "Troubles back at home?"

"Yes."

"Urgent matters regarding the land?"

"Something like that."

"And they need you to go back to Pendragon to settle it personally?"

"You heard that, huh?"

The Princess huffed. She knew he intends to keep rather tightlipped about the conversation that happened and this is him humoring her without revealing anything of importance. One perfect brow arched, "You do know that I'm not going to let you go?"

"I wasn't going to ask you to, My Lady."

A few moments of silence passed between the two of them before she decided to change her approach. She placed a soft, barely there kiss on his temple. "Tell me what's bothering you?" Cornelia whispered, lips brushing lightly against his skin.

Guilford smiled wryly, "Curiosity killed the cat, Your Highness."

Annoyed at how she couldn't even _seduce_ the answer out of him, she gave a rather unladylike snort and started to withdraw, only for him to capture her wrists and guide her around the couch. He directed her to sit next to him and kept her close. Cornelia allowed herself to be led but refused to look at him. Although she knew just how childish she was acting, she couldn't help keep the tiny pout from forming on her lips.

That was, until she felt his fingers gently guiding her face towards his.

"If you must know," Guilford sighed against her lips, "I just received word that I've another title added to my name."

"Which is?" Cornelia breathed, unable to resist running her fingers through his hair as she shifted in her position, now almost sitting on his lap.

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself for the pain: "Marquess."

Her eyes widened as she pulled away from his embrace, "Your father's dead?"

"And my brother has gone missing, ever since that ambush in E.U. Since that was months ago, we're not getting our hopes up."

Cornelia frowned, toying with his collar idly. She's always made it a point to make conversation with her troops; it boosts morale, after all. The Princess has heard countless tales of soldiers losing their friends and family members in the years she'd serve as Chief General. She has all but practiced her sympathetic reply of condolences. Guilford isn't just a normal soldier; he is her confidante, her Knight, her closest friend, and her lover.

To her surprise, he laughed and pulled her closer. _Hush. Don't say anything._ Cornelia felt her eyes flutter shut as Guilford placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I mourn the loss of my father out of duty. But honestly, Princess, you know the man was quick to disinherit me when I went to military school against his wishes. I wasn't exactly obedient, either. The disinheritance wasn't made public because my family allergic to scandal. The original plan was that I was supposed to lay off any claim to the Marquessate when Father dies; my brother inherits everything."

"You'll get nothing?"

"Nothing from them," Guilford shrugged, rubbing her arm soothingly, "Or maybe a small percentage, in return for my silence. It doesn't matter. I have accumulated a decent sum from years of service in the Military. I've already invested in some properties in the Capital and outside of Pendragon. As for the Marquessate, I might keep the ancestral land but I'm thinking of having the other assets sold... or donated to charity."

"Charity?" Cornelia raised her eyebrows at him, taken aback. It dawned on her quickly enough, "You've been talking to Euphemia, haven't you?"

He cracked a grin, "Lady Euphemia and I may have had exchanged ideas here and there. Did you know she wanted to own a property big enough to build an animal hospital and shelter facility?"

She rolled her eyes at him, snuggling closer. His warmth was making her sleepy. This is how she could still sleep well at night, despite her nerves. "Be careful, Gil. If she gets any ideas, you answer to me."

"She has a kind heart. And she loves you so. I doubt she'll ever do something that would displease you, Your Highness."

"I warn you, My Knight, she's my sister. She has a stubborn streak in there, somewhere." Cornelia fell silent and regarded their reflection. Without the backdrop of an invasion or the presence of Knightmares, here sat two people sharing an intimate conversation while relishing in the warmth of each other's company.

In truth, she was slightly envious of how Guilford spoke, so unconcerned about his inheritance, or the lack thereof which drove him to work hard and carve a name for himself. It wasn't that different from her own reasons; she seized power in the Military _not_ because it would undoubtedly help her cause in inheriting the throne, but because she refused to become just another bargaining tool in the Emperor's _grand_ scheme of things. She disliked the fighting as much as the next person does, but seeing the end of it frightened her more.

How will she be of use then, when Britannia has conquered everything? Cornelia needed a semblance of control to distract her from the inevitable future of an arranged marriage.

Discreetly, she glanced up at the man who held her; it remained as a heartbreaking reminder that every intimate moment between the two of them will always happen when the rest of the world sleeps.

Guilford cocked his head to the side, "One of my lands for your thoughts?"

"You offer that much? Curiosity killed the cat, My Knight."

"Touché, Princess." Cornelia loved hearing him laugh because he rarely does so. Outside, he can be a very unsympathetic person with his frosty gaze and his mouth is a perpetual grim line. His unfailingly straight posture adds to his already towering height, making him look even more imposing. At times, he would cock an eyebrow or a scoff. His words are always short and sometimes unkind. He can be a tad impatient at the shortcomings of subordinates, too. She was cut from the same cloth, really, but with the added touch of an explosive temper.

It wasn't all pretend, per se; all of it is still a part of who they are. However, a long time ago, they agreed that it was a necessity to keep each other at a distance when in public. Although sometimes, she would allow a little slip of affection in how she would address him, and he would lean closer to her than is necessary when conveying something private. Perhaps this little world of theirs is enough. For now.

It kept both of them sane.

"I do have a question, however..."

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, "Fire away."

"Wouldn't you need an Heir now that you're a Marquess?"

"Ah,"

His Heir. His child (children?). With another (nameless and faceless) woman. She had spied more than enough women who fawned over him during social gatherings, Marquess or not. Women who are beautiful, graceful and soft; the very opposite of her harshness and lack of poise in ballrooms. She was convinced that he would later marry (out of duty) somebody who knew her place; somebody willing to follow her husband, bear his children and manage the household. Cornelia pushed the unwanted thoughts away, along with the simmering taste of jealousy and bitterness.

He seemed to sense her unease. "I pledged myself to _you_, Cornelia, and I intend to stay, remember?"

"I could— " He looked at her expectantly, "—release you if needed." Cornelia instantly regretted the turn of this conversation the moment she spotted hurt in his eyes.

"No, My Lady. I don't intend to take a wife, even then. My family's name dies with me, I suppose." He said quietly.

Darlton's voice floated around in her head, from a conversation a long time ago. _He hoped that you will be merciful and release him when time comes for you to marry somebody else, Your Highness. Or maybe he'd die in service before that… Gil seems to think that's preferable. The idiot._

Cornelia looked away, "Or perhaps you could just adopt. Like Darlton did." She sighed in relief as he laughed at her suggestion, tension vanishing as quickly as it came.

"I think I'll pass on the adoption. Besides—" She watched as his eyes turned a shade darker, a slow smile forming on his handsome face. Slowly, he ran his fingertips down the side of her face, curling the ends of her hair before continuing down her arm. She shivered as his warm hands reached the exposed skin of her thighs.

Yes, this is why she could sleep so peacefully without worrying that a missile would be dropped on their heads.

"Gil?"

"—Given the chance, I'd like to create my own progeny, if you don't mind," Guilford murmured against her mouth, pulling her closer. Cornelia moved to match, greedily wanting to close the gap between them but he proved to be faster. He held himself slightly away from her just so, just enough to growl out, "And you look lovely in my shirt, My Lady."

All coherent thoughts and unwanted worries flew from her head as their lips met; he hooked his arm around her waist as she snaked hers around his neck. Her kisses matched his. Stroke for stroke. Caress for caress. Guilford broke off with a strangled gasp for air and quickly moved his mouth to the side of her face, placing feverish kisses on her jaw, neck and throat, in between chanting her name against her skin, worship and longing evident in his tone. Cornelia exhaled with a shudder, eyes rolling to the back of her head at the sensation, instinctively pressing her body closer to Guilford's, her curves molding perfectly with his contours. Her hands roamed the planes of his well-sculpted torso, memorizing each curve and muscle through the fabric of his clothes. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and moved herself to his lap, a knee straddling each side of his thighs.

Guilford hissed at the warmth and the sensitive pressure and captured her mouth in retaliation, earning a whimper from his Princess. Again, he tore his mouth from hers, "I need—" He pinned her with his half-lidded gaze, dark from barely contained hunger. To emphasize his point, he gently nudged his hip with hers, causing her to gasp at the suggestion of pleasure. There remained very little sense left in her to fully appreciate how her Knight _never_ allows himself to go any further without her consent.

Not that he needed to ask, but it was still nice of him to do so.

"You. Now." She answered with a growl, silencing him with a kiss of her own. Guilford moaned in affirmation before wedging a hand under her shirt, fingers digging into her hip and moving upwards, briefly brushing the curved underside of her breast, and another hand fumbling with the buttons of her (his, technically) shirt. Thankfully, it was loose-fitting enough to expose a slender shoulder and a teasing hint of her chest.

He lowered his head, kissing and gently nipping the space where her neck and shoulder met and breathed in her scent, mentally mapping out where he wanted to kiss her.

Everywhere, really.

Guilford ground his teeth together as her fingers fumbled with his belt, accidentally brushing against the embarrassing evidence of his arousal. Cornelia blushed hotly at the discovery.

He chuckled, grabbing her hand and kissing her palm reverently.

Then her tablet - the one she uses for videocons - rang loudly, quite effectively piercing through their haze.

Cornelia wanted nothing more than to pick up the gun on the table and shoot the damn thing. Her chest heaved as she took steadying breaths. The hand that remained on his chest moved as Guilford, with his eyes shut tightly in annoyance, inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"I have to—" Cornelia muttered, resting her forehead against his. He nodded in agreement, sighing as she eases her weight off him.

"Wait, Cornelia. Here—let me." He pulled at her clothes, straightening them, buttoning it up and he fished his uniform from the chair, draping it around her shoulders. With one final kiss, Guilford gently nudged her in the direction of her own desk.

Cornelia flipped it open to reveal her brother. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of his face, "Schneizel." She ground out, willing herself to be civil.

"Oh dear. I seemed to have interrupted your… er, sleep." She said nothing. Normally she would enjoy the light banter, but not at the moment, no.

"It's the dead of the night, Schneizel. You have a purpose for this call, I assume?" Her eyes flickered over to where Guilford sat, now perched on the edge of her desk, wiping his glasses with a cleaning cloth.

"I do, Sister. In fact, maybe it's best if Lord Guilford joins us." At her surprised pause, the Second Prince plowed on, addressing the other person in the room who remained out of sight, "Lord Guilford. I apologize for this lack of courtesy on my part, but this cannot wait. Will you have a seat?"

"How'd you—"

"You're wearing his jacket, Sister. And do not worry; I don't judge. Ah, Lord Guilford, thank you."

"How may I be of service, Your Highness?" Cornelia marveled at his professionalism; something she was purposely lacking at the moment.

"I'm sending the two of you the latest reports on the unrest in Area 11, including the news from different networks. The resistance is proving to be more... relentless and troublesome for the governing body."

"Missing cargo, stolen weapons and..." Guilford's eyes narrowed at the article on the screen, "They took Knightmares as well?"

"What the hell is Gottwald and his Purists doing, lounging about?"

Schneizel frowned, "Seems like even the Purists couldn't—"

"_Wouldn't_, rather. Those damn elitists are too busy petitioning against the Honorary System that they've gotten so fu—"

Guilford cleared his throat, temporarily distracting the Second Prince from Cornelia's hostile mood, "Was Shinjuku contained, Your Highness?"

"No. By order of the Viceroy, the Elevens were allowed to leave unscathed."

"Even the terrorists?" Cornelia snapped.

"I'm afraid so, Cornelia. The terrorists who survived the Shinjuku incident remain at large. We may need you in Area 11 as soon as your current campaign is done. Can this be done immediately? Also, when you're in Area 11, I need you to contact my research team led by Earl Lloyd Asplund; he works under the Authority of the Second Prince. Use his resources as you will."

"What does Asplund have to do with Shinjuku?"

"His team has developed... Ah, best if you see it for yourselves."

Cornelia scowled, "Hold, Schneizel. What does the Viceroy of Area 11 have to say if we step in? This is Clovis' problem. He volunteered for Area 11."

A shadow crossed the prince's handsome face, "Very little say, I'm afraid. And I'm telling you, as Prime Minister, that you will have to take over as Viceroy as well."

What Cornelia failed to notice was that her Knight has gone silent. "Clovis agreed just like that?"

Schneizel El Britannia hesistated.

Guilford stiffened immediately, as comprehension dawned on him. He cleared his throat, "Princess—"

"No, let me, Lord Guilford." Schneizel held his half-sister's gaze with a grim expression, "Clovis is dead, Cornelia. They found him in the command station with several shots to the head. _You_ are the new Viceroy of Area 11."

The shock was palpable. Cornelia felt her hands go cold as images mocked her from the recesses of her mind: Lady Marianne lying in a pool of blood; Lelouch and poor Nunnally in a warzone; now Clovis, eyes glassy, his shining hair of gold matted with blood. Her fingers tightened around Guilford's jacket. She could barely register what her brother was saying.

"And His Majesty also decreed that you take Euphie as your Sub-Viceroy. I'm sorry, Cornelia. I tried to reason with him and you know what _that_ is like. Lord Guilford, I will have Kanon contact you with more information. There's only so much that we can handle in one day." The Prince sighed, and ran a hand tiredly through his hair, "And it's been a _very_ long day for all of us."

Guilford dipped his head in respect to the Second Prince before kissing the top of Cornelia's head, utterly unconcerned that they still have an audience, as he took his leave. He sighed, vaguely wondering there the coffee maker was stored, now painfully aware that neither of them will be getting any sleep that night.

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Thanks for reading! ❤


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